


Friend, Please

by TheIntelligentHufflepuff



Series: Platonic Ideals (non-romantic Anne with an E fic) [1]
Category: Anne with an E (TV)
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Fluff, Gen, Male-Female Friendship, Mental Health Issues, Missing Scene, Post-Season/Series 02, mentioned shirbert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-19
Updated: 2019-09-19
Packaged: 2020-10-21 20:30:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20699417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheIntelligentHufflepuff/pseuds/TheIntelligentHufflepuff
Summary: Smiling, he bounded towards her, gangly limbs loose and free. It was a pleasant contrast to his posture on the cliff weeks ago. Then, Cole had looked like an agonised bug pinned to a board, or a mediaeval prince wounded in battle, staggering to aid that would never arrive.Anne's answering smile dimmed at the recollection; Cole noticed."What's the matter?" He asked, a confused divot appearing between his brows.ORAfter Bash and Mary's wedding, Anne visits Cole and they talk about what happened on the cliff.CW: discussion of suicidal ideation.





	Friend, Please

**Author's Note:**

> This is maybe a lil angsty for an Anne with an E fic, but I definitely thought that the implication was Cole was feeling moderately-severely suicidal at the start of S2 E10 and I wanted to explore what that might mean to him and Anne and how they would deal with that.
> 
> Therefore this fic does discuss suicide explicitly and in moderate depth, so please look after yourself! If you do read it, I hope the fluffy bit at the end makes up for the angst and that it satisfies your character-focused needs. 
> 
> Title from the song by twenty one pilots bc I guess I'll never be over that particular album. 
> 
> (Also, I might do a series of platonic codas and missing scenes and stuff bc there's a lot of v interesting platonic dynamics in Anne with an E!)

Aunt Josephine's house was quieter than Anne had ever found it before. Plush carpet smothered her footsteps before they were born, the halls were vacant of servants, and not a note of music hung in the air. Something about it was so anticipatory that Anne cringed at the swish of her taffeta skirts, like it was the snapping of a twig in a tiger-filled jungle. 

But, no- Anne had been to a beautiful wedding and now she was visiting her friend and going to enjoy it. No matter the topic of conversation. 

Nodding firmly to herself, Anne drew up to Cole's studio door and knocked. 

"Come in!" He called. 

She slipped inside. Immediately, she was bathed in light from the delicate French doors opposite, enveloped in the rich mineral scent of fresh clay. Cole didn't look up, enraptured by the figure taking shape on his workbench. Though his shirtsleeves had been rolled up, ruddy brown still edged at the fabric. 

"Hello." Anne said, amused. 

That got Cole's attention. Smiling, he bounded towards her, gangly limbs loose and free. It was a pleasant contrast to his posture on the cliff weeks ago. Then, Cole had looked like an agonised bug pinned to a board, or a medieval prince wounded in battle, staggering to aid that would never arrive. 

Anne's answering smile dimmed at the recollection; Cole noticed. 

"What's the matter?" He asked, a confused divot appearing between his brows. 

"Nothing." Anne automatically replied, then chastised herself; she had never allowed herself to be deterred from difficult conversations before "Actually, no. Seeing you so happy reminded me of how broken you were after-" 

Cole turned on his heel and stalked to the chaise lounge across the room. 

"Can we not talk about that?" 

"No. Yes." Anne followed him, wincing "What I mean is, I need to know that you're alright. And I need you to know that I understand." 

"Anne-" 

"Cole. Look." Anne set herself down next to him and, without asking, took his hand. 

They had never shied from small touches: Cole's fingers deftly arranging Anne's hair, Anne moving his limbs absentmindedly as she navigated around their small hut, a light pat on the back as they parted. But this was only the third time they had made contact with anything Anne might describe as intent. 

It seemed to make Cole aware that what Anne wanted to say, needed to be said. 

Though he didn’t curl his hand around hers in return, he allowed her to begin. 

"I don't think I've ever been more terrified than when you ran out of that classroom. It was like you'd become a completely different person. Someone who could deal a lot of hurt." 

Cole's jaw worked, dark eyes fixed on his free hand. The clay was beginning to harden and peel, his digits butterflies coming out of their cocoon. 

The image was a lot more delicate than the look in Cole’s eyes as he muttered "I wouldn't've hurt you." 

Anne studied his face.  
  


"Maybe not." 

"Anne…" Cole finally returned her touch, squeezing her hand, grip strong and sure. He looked desperately guilty and oh so eager to make her believe he wouldn't do her harm. 

Anne wanted to believe him. More than he could know. She almost entirely did. 

"It's alright, Cole." Anne smiled "I know you wouldn't in your right mind. It’s only that you weren’t. That's what was so petrifying- You looked like you were ready to hurt _anyone_. Even- no, _especially_\- yourself." 

*** 

"...._especially_ yourself." 

Ice flooded Cole's veins. One look at the glassy sheen in Anne's eyes told him that she knew the prospect of him harming himself wasn't an idle speculation- that Cole's mind had driven him _there_. Driven him to that cliff and very nearly driven him off it. He'd thought briefly that Anne might have had an idea, in the way she clung to him, but the idea had been swept up in the storm of desperation that had been brewing inside him for weeks. That Anne was aware of his cowardice, his faithlessness, his…Cole had never been more ashamed. 

“I’m sorry.” he ground out, ripping his hand out of Anne’s. He didn’t want her pity.   
  


“No!” Anne cried. She didn’t try to grab his hand back, but she scrambled onto her knees on the chaise lounge, heedless of her boots on the fabric, and gripped his shoulders, spinning him around. 

Startled, he let himself be moved. Their positions put Anne’s head above him; it was a strange feeling to look up into her intense gaze. Half-formed figments of sculpture flitted across Cole’s mind, but he shoved them aside. This moment felt pivotal. 

“Cole, don’t be sorry for feeling!” Anne urged him, almost begging. Tears glimmered in the corners of her eyes, but didn’t fall. 

“_Never_ be sorry for feeling.”   
  


“But I am sorry.” Cole found himself confessing, almost without thinking “I’m sorry I scared you. I’m sorry I scared myself. I’m sorry I have that kind of violence in me. I’m sorry I almost…” a tremor passed through his lower lip. As if in sympathy, Anne bit hers. 

To hell with it. 

“I’m sorry I almost threw everything I had away and killed myself.” 

There. He’d said it. 

Their heads bowed in synchrony, the admission a palpable yolk around their necks. Soft as silk, Anne’s hands slipped down Cole’s shoulders to rest near his elbows, like they’d been arrested halfway through an embrace. 

“How it pains me to hear you say so.” Anne whispered, voice tainted with remorse “Or rather, how it pains me to have my suspicions confirmed. And how agonising it is to have to own to my part in driving you to such depths.” 

Cole tried not to be offended at how easily Anne’s line of thought had looped around to herself; he knew she didn’t intend to be cruel. 

He smiled bitterly “Well, _I _was the one standing on the edge of a cliff.” 

Anne swallowed “Did you always intend to try to…?” 

“No.” Cole shook his head “At least, I told myself I went there to calm down. But then I saw the sea stretching on and on, and…” 

He trailed off, finding himself at a loss for words despite the fathoms of feeling inside him. 

“...And you realised how alone you were, how insignificant, and how little anybody in the world cared how much you hurt?” Anne finished, quiet and raw. 

Surprised, Cole’s eyes flicked to observe her. Anne was pale, the corner of her mouth drawn up in a rueful smile. At Cole’s questioning look, she readjusted herself to sit properly beside him, and sighed. 

“I have never tried to do what you tried to do,” she explained “But once or twice I have felt similar despair. I can very well understand how, in those moments, the thought would be appealing.” 

Cole’s heart seized, the cavity of his chest threatening to collapse in on itself. His eyes began to prick, but he blinked hard and rapidly. No reason to show Anne how shaken he was; though he supposed that may have been her point. To make him feel what, doubtless, she felt when she realised what he had tried to do. 

“I thought you told me not to be sorry.” 

Anne frowned “No, Cole. I didn’t tell you that to make you _guilty_, I just- I wanted you to know that if you come to me, I’ll understand. And you _can _come to me. We’re kindred spirits.” 

Hesitantly, Cole raised his arm and draped it around Anne’s shoulders. Immediately, she buried into the touch. And, Cole had to admit, it did settle him too. 

“I know, Anne. I know. I’ll come to you. I don’t- I don’t think I _will, _now that I’m living with Aunt Jo and everything is so much better. But if I need to, I’ll come.” 

“Come to me before it gets that bad, Cole.” Anne insisted. 

He gave her shoulder a pat “I will. And you come to me, too. Even if you go to Diana as well.” 

“I will.” Anne vowed solemnly. 

Gradually, the tension bled out of their shoulders and they began to slump into each other. As the studio air loosened, the excitement Cole had felt when Anne first entered returned. 

“So,” he eventually asked, grinning impishly “Why the nice dress?” 

“Oh!” Anne sat upright, clasping her hands together “Sebastian and Mary’s wedding! It was ever so romantic, I reckon even _Gilbert _thought so-” 

“Oh? Gilbert?” 

Anne shot Cole a look, but nevertheless a rosy blush seeped over her skin “Yes, Gilbert. I sat next to him and,” Anne lent in conspirationally “I do believe we flirted.” 

Laughter bubbled out of Cole without his permission “You _believe_?” 

“Yes, I _believe._” Anne teased back “In fact, I’m willing to consider the possibility that he may actually rather like me.” 

“Oh, you’ll deign to that?” 

“I will!” Anne declared, launching into a long and verbose soliloquy that roughly amounted to an explanation that, though she appreciated Gilbert’s possible interest, she suspected it was a transitory fancy inspired by an appreciation for the fact that she had sought to contact him while he was away, and thus not anything worth acting on in the hopes of an epic romance. 

As Cole fondly watched her chatter on, his gaze strayed to her shoulder. He gulped. The eggshell blue fabric was impregnated with flecks of clay from Cole’s hand, forming an ugly smear. Smothering a guilty grin, he forced his eyes back to Anne’s face. 

It was probably best that he avoid Marilla for a month or so. 

At least Anne could visit him here. 

  
  



End file.
